


Ludus

by grumpygrahams



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996) Fusion, Gypsy AU, Loosely based off of Hunchback of Notre Dame, M/M, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpygrahams/pseuds/grumpygrahams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night together, the gypsy Antony and The Queen's Gaurd Captain, Pazzi, must face the ramifications of what has been. War is easy but love never is. The two must face both as the Queen is no more and her brother rises to power, swearing to wipe all gypsies from Paris. </p><p>Based (very) loosely off of the film The Hunchback of Notre Dame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ludus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cognomen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/gifts).



Paris 1848.

The streets positively hummed. Paris always did, though. It was the people of the city that brought such an energy, natives and gypsies alike. Laughter was usually heard so late into the night that one could call it early morning and joy spread throughout, even with the looming shadow of the Prince’s power threatening to strike out against any who spoke word against him.

Paris was ruled by the gentle hand of the Queen, the third Queen in the Verger line, but her brother was what brought destruction, what with little power that he had. His displeasure came upon the Romani gypsies that had taken residence in the city, not minded by any other except him.

The gypsies had brought a different culture to the city that many fell in love with. From music, to dance, to food, and all was welcomed. 

But it was not music or dance or food that had taken the heart of the Captain of the Queen’s Guard. Begotten was his heart to the poet who only spoke such things. It was the poet, in the middle of the street, which he had fallen in love with, as many would come to know. 

The poet came by the name of Antony Dimmond, not Romani but rather British. He came from the streets of London, a poor boy, with the flair of stringing words together to set the soul ablaze. How he came to join the gypsy band in Paris, no one knew, but many claimed it was because of his love for the art of words, in which Paris was rich.

Antony now stood in the middle of the square, a lute in the crook of his elbow as he strummed, his voice held high as he sang out, a love song of city or of body. He was well known to sing of things he loved, of things he knew, but never of the world of his past.

The crowd gathered happily with coin in their hand, tossing each silver piece into the small bag in front of him as he played another note, giving his heart to his city. 

It wasn’t only the common that watched him, though. Beneath the shadows of the church Notre Dam sat men upon horses, each with a sword on their hip and an emblem upon their breast. They were the men of the Queen’s Guard. 

The men were of high valor, stony faced and many young. They were not cruel but they were not kind, either. They couldn’t be, not with the need to keep watch of all. 

One in particular, however, sat higher than most, his chin lifted high as deep brown eyes scanned the crowed around Antony. His name was Rinaldo Pazzi and he was the Captain of the Guard. He was also hopelessly in love. 

Of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, admit such a thing to any. It was a secret that he kept only to himself, and perhaps the horse beneath him who listened to it’s master mutter breathless words as he cleaned his stable.

The love for the poet came gradually, much like that of someone who wished very much not to love that which is not good for them like drink or fortune. Yet, all of these things are rather debatable in their own right.

The fact that Pazzi came to love the man at all was rather deplorable, but not surprising. Many were in love with Antony, though they were women, and the problem that Pazzi had was very much not a problem for them at all. 

If any found out that Pazzi was in love with another man, why, he would lose his title, lest of all his very head.

So he remained quiet with his infatuation.

But it didn’t stop him from looking on with interest on his brow.

Today Antony sung a new song about an unrequited love and Pazzi couldn’t help but smile. Their eyes caught, briefly, and Antony smiled a dazzling smile, all teeth and lip and Pazzi swore he sang a little higher. He broke their gaze as Lieutenant Brown came up beside him.

“Bonjour, Senor Pazzi.” Brown said.

“Bonjour, Brown.” Pazzi returned the greeting to the boy.

Brown really was just that; a boy with boyish excitement and boyish youth. His ears were too big for his head and his smile just a little to eager, but Pazzi loved him. Not with the love that he held for Antony, mind you, but a love like what a father would have for a son. 

“All is well upon the streets, today. People are seeming to like what the gypsy man has too say.” Brown loosens the reigns upon his horse as he speaks, the black beauty shaking her head in delight.

“I am glad. What does he sing of today?” 

“Love, as always.” Brown laughs, showing too many teeth. “One would think he is almost as love-lost as the whores at the houses.”

“Perhaps he is.” Pazzi teases, looking out to the gypsy again. “I think I will make my rounds.”

“Take care, Senor.”

Pazzi nods and flicks the reigns on his horse and it moves forward, the heavy hooves echoing against the cobblestone as they hit it. 

He does make his rounds, going up and down the streets, greeting any who would lift their eye to him. No matter where he went, though, he could still hear Antony until he no longer couldn’t and that was at dusk. 

Evening had settled around them quickly and Pazzi returned to the square, the crowds gone for the night, settling in their homes for supper. 

Antony was there, though, his body bent as he packed away his lute in a case and gathered the scattered coin around his bag. Pazzi approached.

“It seems you have done well today.” 

The gypsy man turned, not at all startled.

“Is that merely observance or is it a compliment?” 

Pazzi stopped his horse near Antony but didn’t dismount. 

“An observance.” He nodded to the bag that Antony was tying to his hip, the sack heavy with coin.

“And what if I was to take it as a compliment instead?” 

Pazzi felt his ears tip pink at the cheeky response.

“Then you may have it.”

Antony flashed a smile at him, coming close.

“I wasn’t asking permission, but thank you.”

Pazzi watched as Antony reached up to lay a hand against the dapple horse’s nose, long fingers stroking the soft fuzz. 

“I was wondering when you would come talk to me.” It was soft admission, more to the horse than him. “What with the way you look at me, I constantly think I’m in trouble.”

“No, you are in no trouble.” 

“I would hope not. I rather enjoy staying in the good graces of the Queen’s Guard. “

He didn’t have much to say to that, rather because he favored the gypsy and good graces were already merited in that.

“Will you walk with me?” 

“Where to?” Pazzi asked.

“Where ever we want.” And it was a rather silly notion, that. But Pazzi nodded anyways. The next guard would be taking post soon, making his evening duty free.

The horse began to move as Antony lead the beast with a gentle hand.

Together they walked down the dimly lit streets of Paris. Beyond the houses one could hear the laughter of men and women alike, but they drew away from those parts of the city and began moving down quieter streets.

It was then Antony spoke to him.

“You do not hide it well.”

There was little else that the gypsy could be talking of ad Pazzi felt his gut clench.

“I have always held honesty in high regard.” He answered, truthfully, in return. 

Antony hummed as they turned a corner, his fingers still leading the horse, or leading Pazzi, one couldn’t tell. 

“Does it bother you more that you find yourself thinking of men at night or of a gypsy?” The question had Pazzi stop, the horse jerking in the tight grasp of reigns around its head.

“How dare –“ 

“Oh, come get off it.” Antony interjected, rounding upon him with that charming smile. “Do you think I would not notice? Me, of all man? I write songs upon the looks in another’s eye or the tilt of a mouth and snick of a tongue. I ask the question in all humble quality that I own.”

They stood in the middle of the street as Antony wormed his way out of the grasp of anger that had shot through Pazzi, instead replacing it with a streak of wonderment of what Antony was implying.

“I have not-,” And it was easy to find the words that he wanted to say but it was hard to say them. Antony looked at him expectantly. “I do not wish to speak of this here. Not where anyone can hear.” 

“Then let us talk elsewhere.” Came the immediate reply.

Pazzi stared at the gypsy, tried to read the honest integrity in the man’s eyes and couldn’t find a reason to deny his proposal, not any further than that he was the Captain of the Queen’s Guard and that Antony was very well a gypsy. It would look suspicious, but no more suspicious than what they were doing now, he supposed. 

“You have a place in mind already, do you not?” 

The way that Antony beamed at him confirmed that he did, in fact, have a place in mind. He began walking. The horse followed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the wonderful Hannigram Gift Exchange gift for Cognomen! I am a horribly big fan of them so I do hope this is up to par with what you would like to see and read! Merry Christmas!
> 
> I also will admit I was not a huge fan of Pazzi/Dimmond, but the more I wrote and worked with their characters, the more I fell in love with them. Thanks, Cognomen, for converting me!


End file.
